Chapter 16

Michael Hunt had just received some good news and bad news. His doctor had just informed him that they would not have to put a pin in his wrist. He had decided to just put the arm in a cast and see if the bones would mend on their own.

He felt confident, but gave no assurance. Michael was fine with that. He just wanted out of the hospital. Sandy had snuck him in some food, but he needed something other than hospital and fast food. The bad news was the OSBI agents were not through with him. They were hinting about arresting Michael, who maintained his innocence.

He had just about convinced them to release him without any kind of arrest. Chief Arnold had been in contact with the OSBI agents and told them Michael did not shoot the guy and was not any risk of flight.

That seemed to help, although they seemed to have their doubts.

Michael was just glad that he wasn’t going to have to go to the slammer upon release. He still had other worries, though.

------

Big Uns seemed a little disappointed. Squiggy had kept her from dancing for the shooter. She really didn’t understand how her dancing would get somebody to talk, but apparently it had.

“Quit that dancing, Big Uns,” Squiggy said again. She couldn’t help herself. That old country music got her a moving and a grooving.

She continued to jiggle a little, but stopped with the whole clothes removal. “What for?”

“For a while,” Squiggy said. “We need to talk to this here feller that was wanting to shoot my buttocks.”

Albert looked a little relieved. “Whoo, thanks.”

“Don’t be thinking me,” Squiggy said. “Now why was you wanting to kill me?”

“I was told to kill you.”

“By who?”

Albert started to clam up. One wrong word and he would be toast.

“Best start talking, boy,” Squiggy said. Albert continued to hold his silence. “Mule, switch that CD to the eighth song.”

Mule walked over to the CD player and stared at it. “How do you do that?”

“Easy, you just keep hitting the button until it shows eight on it.”

Mule turned the power on and off several times. Then he turned the player over to the radio, followed by switching between AM and FM. After that, he messed with the tuner and the volume.

“What the crap?” he said. “I can’t find no eight.”

“That’s cause you’s ate up with it,” Squiggy said. He walked over to the player and set the track. Within seconds, a Backstreet Boys song came on.

“Please, no!” Albert said.

It was too late. Big Uns was controlled before. Now she was spinning around all through the cellar. Her hair was flying through the air and her breasts were bouncing hard enough that she almost blacked both eyes.

Mule was amazed. “Hot dog! She must like that song.”

Big Uns nodded and continued to do dance moves that likely had never been seen before. “I like to dance!” she said.

She twirled over in front of Albert and shook her head, letting her hair whack him in the face. Some of it got lodged in his mouth and he spit it out.

“Please, somebody stop her!” he said.

“You ready to talk?” Squiggy said.

“I can’t! They’ll kill me.”

Squiggy walked over to the CD player and switched the song. Slowly, the Bette Midler song Wind Beneath My Wings started playing. Big Uns stopped in her tracks. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and started singing.

There was a good reason why Big Uns never made it big with her singing. Mainly, it was because she couldn’t. She was loud and screeched enough that everybody covered their ears.

“Crap fire,” Squiggy said. “That’s almost too painful for me!”

“Squiggy, I’d rather you let the feller go instead of hearing her sing,” Mule said.

Whatever Big Uns lacked in talent, she made up for in enthusiasm. She was belting out the song with all her effort. Inside the cellar made it even worse.

"Please stop!” Albert said again.

“You talking?” Squiggy said.

“Yeah, I’d rather die than hear her sing.”

-------

Chief Arnold was still not moving all that great. He was still limping, even worse when somebody might see him walking, of course. He was worried about his town. Langford used to be a peaceful place and all he had to worry about was arresting Mexicans and breaking up domestic disturbances.

Not anymore, though. Now people were getting killed in his town. And buildings were getting blown up. That just wasn’t right. Chief Arnold always thought he was a decent lawman. But never had to worry about people actually shooting at him before.

The chief knew he was in over his head. He could either quit or change. What he had decided was to change. Gone would be the friendly local cop. Instead, Langford was about to see the second coming of Buford Pusser of Walking Tall fame.

He stopped his cruiser in front of the Last Call. The chief doubted any of the new people would be in town or at the bar, but this would be good practice. Unlike Buford, the chief decided a 2x4 probably wouldn’t work. He had never mastered baseball and struggled to even hit a whiffle ball thrown slow and underhanded.

The chief thought long and hard before deciding on his weapon for intimidation. He got out of the car, grabbed his weapon and walked toward the entrance. Three drunk cowboys were sitting on the ground outside the entrance, trying to sober up enough to get home.

One of the three looked up and blinked. That was right before he snorted. “Hee hee,” he said. “Is that a jump rope you’re carrying?”

The chief hoped people would think it was a whip. He had even painted it black. “No, it’s a whip,” the chief said. “Watch this!”

He snapped the jump rope and made a loud pop. The second cowboy laughed. “That wouldn’t even leave a scratch.”

“You wanna find out?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind a butt kicking.”

The chief decided they were not worthy and walked inside the bar, making sure everybody saw him limping. The bartender watched him enter and stand in the center of the tables.

Nobody was paying any attention to the chief. That certainly wasn’t the plan. Chief Arnold was a little insulted. He grabbed the whip/jump rope off his shoulder and popped it on the ground.

He nipped one of the waitresses on the leg. “Watch it, you dork!” she hollered. “I’ll be sticking that jump rope where the dadgummed sun don’t shine!”

“It’s a whip!” the chief said. “The crap’s gonna stop!”

“What crap would that be?” asked a drunk cowboy who was halfway falling out of his chair.

“You’re fixing to see!” the chief said and stalked away toward the dance floor.

Chapter 15

The two men were not the talkative types. They had been by themselves way too much and really didn’t much like dealing with other people.

Jimmy Don didn’t have much trouble finding the man. He had a pretty good idea where he would hide and searched that area. The other man was hidden well and probably wouldn’t have been found by ninety-nine percent of the people.

The man was a little shocked that anybody could find him. He was hidden well, not great but he didn’t expect company. Especially since he was in a little opening on a hill overlooking the property owned by the men.

His name was Sonny Windham. He had a problem with these men and planned on stopping whatever they were trying to do.

He still wasn’t sure what was going on, just knew it wasn’t good. Sonny had rescued Jimmy Don when the dogs were after him. They were hard shots for most people, but not for Sonny.

He hated to kill a dog since his best friend was a mixed breed dog named Maggie. If anybody ever shot her, they would soon find out if the bright light really shined when a person passed away.

After the initial greetings, the two men watched the men below and talked things over. They both had some ideas on what was happening.

They were both wrong.

--------

It was the remote location and the low cost of land that originally attracted the leaders of the group to set up in this location, some ten miles out of Langford.

They had hoped that nobody would notice. Most of them were from larger places and had no idea how people in rural locations shared information.

The first few tracts of land were rather easy to buy. But after that, the price continued to rise. Now, it was almost ridiculous. But the price was still less than most location. Plus, they had spent so much money now, it wouldn’t be feasible to relocate.

But it wasn’t like money was an issue. They had all the money they could possibly need. To accomplish what they were going to do did not come cheap. Fortunately, there were some deep pockets behind this venture.

The property they had purchased so far was deeded TechIK, Inc. Nobody really knew what that stood for aside from the main leaders. TechIK was buried under enough Nevada corporations that it would take a long time and a smart attorney to figure out who actually owned all this.

If everything worked according to plans, they would be out of here in six months. The land and all the improvements would be left behind. Somebody would get a good deal out of a tax sale in a few years.

These men didn’t care. By then, if they were still alive, they would all be scattered and wealthy enough that they could live wherever.

-------

The two men carrying him bumped his head against the concrete step, waking Albert up.

It took a few seconds for him to figure out where he was and what was going on. Two men were carrying him down the stairs to something dark. He figured that out quickly. After the taller man hit the light switch, Albert realized that it was a storm cellar.

This just wouldn’t work, he decided. Albert and enclosed places did not get along. He started bucking and trying to pull away, not that it did much good. The big guy was strong as an ox and wasn’t letting go.

The smaller man kneed Albert in the side, making him calm down.

“What’re you doing?” Albert asked. This was not good. The person he had been hired to kill was now holding him captive. Albert expected a good beating from them in hopes of coughing up information.

They didn’t have any idea what they were going against. Albert wouldn’t give up information. It didn’t matter what these men did, it couldn’t even come close to what his boss and his people could do.

They threw the man on the bed, still with each man holding on to one arm and a leg.

“Sit on him, Big Uns,” Squiggy said.

“Do what?” Albert said.

“Uh, on his face?” she said. Now that wouldn’t be a bad deal, Big Uns decided. The little guy was kind of cute.

“Crap no,” Squiggy said. “I don’t reckon he could handle the smell.”

“What’d you mean by that, Squiggy?”

“Nothing. Just sit on his chest.”

“I don’t wanna sit on the dude’s chest. Why me?”

“Cause you’s the biggest,” Mule said. He regretted his entry into the conversation after she glared at him.

“What Mule meant to say was we need you to hold him down while we tie him up,” Squiggy said.

“We’re gonna tie him up?” Big Uns asked. She was feeling a little better about this captivity thing now.

“Why’re you smiling?” Squiggy said.

“Uh, no reason.” She sat down on the man, making him grunt loudly.

“That hurt?” Mule asked.

Albert nodded. He was having trouble breathing. This woman’s rear was staggering. “Can’t breathe!”

“It’ll just be a second,” Squiggy said.

That was no consolation for the man. He expected one of his ribs to break any second. The two men were tying his wrists to the bedpost. After they finished, they each grabbed an ankle and tied it to the other bedposts.

After the man was secured, Squiggy said, “you can get up now, Big Uns.”

“Oh,” she said, looking a little disappointed. Big Uns slowly stood, her head getting in close proximity to Albert’s privates.

“Watch your hand, woman!” Andrew said.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. Big Uns was still smiling as she stood and looked the man over.

“What’re we gonna do with him?” Mule said.

“We need to find out what he was doing here,” Squiggy said. He leaned down and slapped the man across the face. “Hey, why were you wanting to shoot me?”

Albert clammed up and wouldn’t say a word. Squiggy grabbed hold of the man’s nipples and pulled and twisted really hard. The man groaned, but still would not talk.

“Crud, he wouldn’t talk even after I gived him a titty twister,” Squiggy said.

“Let’s stick a bottle rocket up his rear and light it,” Mule said.

“Now how in the crap would that make him talk?”

“I don’t know if it would. But it’d be kinda funny, eh?”

Squiggy giggled. Now that would be cool. He tried to remember where his fireworks were stashed. But then he thought of something better. “I know what’ll make him talk!”

“What’s that?” Mule said.

“Turn on the music, Big Uns!”

“Why?” she said.

“Cause you’s gonna dance for him!”

Big Uns turned on a CD player to some country music. Slow, old timey country music. She started dancing to the music.

“Hee hee,” Squiggy said. “Look, he can’t handle it!”

The man was squirming and grimacing. This was indeed tough to take. “Don’t let her do that,” he said.

“You gonna talk?” Squiggy said.

He shook his head.

“Okay, Big Uns, start taking your clothes off!”

Albert watched as Big Uns moved closer and started to remove her bra. “No!” he said. “I’ll talk!”

Chapter 14

Squiggy would have thought this was hilarious if Mule wasn’t in such pain.

“Pipe down, Mule,” he said. "You's gonna wake the dead."

“I’s hurting, Squiggy!” Mule said. “I done think he broked my leg again.”

“It’s broke, not broked,” said Big Uns, who realized Mule was staring at her chest and crossed her arms to cover up, like that did any good.

“Whatever,” Squiggy said. “Big Uns, go get a dadgummed shirt on before you get Mule all excited.”

“It’s not like he ain’t seen em before, Squiggy,” she said.

“Do what? When’d Squiggy see your hooters?”

“I ain’t never seen them jugs,” Mule said. “Best I can recall.”

“I thought you was there in the bar that night when that guy paid me to flash em.”

“I must’ve been drunk,” Mule said.

“How much’d you get paid?” Squiggy said.

“A six pack,” Big Uns said. “I didn’t have no money.”

“Not a bad deal,” Squiggy said. “Did you get any tips?”

“Yeah, somebody said I needed a breast reduction.”

“Naw, I meant did anybody else pay you anything.”

“One guy offered me a dollar to put my shirt back on,” she said.

Squiggy nodded. He recalled hearing about that night. He’d paid a whole lot more than a six pack to see those babies. “What should we do with him?”

“Probably need to take him to the doctor,” Big Uns said.

“This guy?” Squiggy said, pointing at the man laid out on the ground. He had a big gash right on the forehead and blood was pouring out.

“Naw, I was talking about Mule. Let’s put the other guy in the storm cellar with all the bugs and spiders.”

“Yeah, that’d work. Mule, that leg broke?”

“I don’t know. It does hurt badly,” he said.

“Would it help the pain if Big Uns took her bra off?”

“How the crap would that help?” she said.

“Take his mind off the pain.”

“Naw, I’d still be hurting. But you can take your bra off if’n you’d like, Big Uns,” Mule said.

“I ain’t gonna just show you my boobs unless I get to see your…”

“Naw,” Squiggy said. “Ain’t nobody gonna get naked. Go help Mule up, Big Uns.”

“Do it yourself,” she said. Big Uns was a little irked. She had a pretty good deal working until Squiggy messed it up.

Squiggy shook his head and walked over to where Mule was lying down, moaning and staring at Big Uns.

“Boy, they’s big,” Mule whispered.

“You reckon that’s why I call her ‘Big Uns’,” Squiggy said. “Duh!”

Mule accepted Squiggy’s hand and was pulled him up. He had just about decided his leg might not be broke. It hurt like the dickens, but there wasn’t a bone sticking out of the skin this time.

“I’d like to kick him in the leg,” Mule said.

“Go ahead,” Squiggy said. “Might as well kick him in the growing while you’s at it.”

“The what?” Big Uns said.

“The growing, you know, his private area,” Squiggy said.

“It ain’t ‘growing’, you idiot,” she said. “It’s groin.”

“Naw, I think it’s called his ‘willy’,” Mule added.

“I was trying to talk proper, Mule!” Squiggy said. “They’s a female here.”

“Yeah, but it’s just Big Uns.”

Big Uns stuck her lower lip and glared at him as Mule limped over to where the man was laid out. He noticed a puddle of blood forming on the ground. He kicked the man in the leg, but all it did was stub his toe. “Doggone, I think I broked my toe!”

“Shouldn’t kick him in the bone, Mule,” Big Uns said. “Kick him in the sack!”

“Okay,” Mule said, smiling at Big Uns. He was in the windup when the man groaned.

“Hold up there, Mule,” Squiggy said. “Let’s haul him to the cellar fore he wakes all the way up. It’d be easier to do it now.”

“Okay,” Mule said. “But can I kick his testiculars then?”

“Fine with me,” Squiggy said. He grabbed one arm while Mule got the other and they drug him toward the cellar, Squiggy’s home after his mobile home got repossessed and his new house was built.

------

Police Chief Arnold was still in a lot of pain. He’d never been shot before and decided that was not something he wanted to experience again.

He was laid up on his couch at the house, drinking beer and watching Jerry Springer. Chief Arnold didn’t much care for Springer, but liked listening to the guests get after each other. Plus, COPS came on after this.

The doctor had told him not to drink alcoholic beverages, but Chief Arnold decided a little beer wouldn’t hurt. The little beer quickly turned into a lot of beer. The wife and kids were gone and the bottom drawer of the fridge was filled with confiscated beer.

The chief was helping himself to all the beer he could drink, courtesy of some drivers who made the mistake of getting caught while drinking and driving. They had decided to fork over the beer instead of getting a ticket. Chief Arnold was pleased with that little trick. Some of the beer was the good stuff, not the cheap crap he usually had to buy.

He was enjoying the time off from work. The chief wasn’t exactly a hard worker and would much rather spend his days doing this. The thought of an early retirement due to a disability had gone through his mind several times, but his attorney said it would be tough to say the chief was disabled from a wound that should heal in two to three weeks.

A guy and his girlfriend were about to get into it when the dadgummed doorbell rang. “Crapfire,” the chief said. “Who the crap is it?”

“It’s Mrs. Hunt,” said the person at the door. “I’m Michael’s mother.”

“Who?”

“Mike Hunt,” she said.

The chief spewed his beer. “What about it?”

“What about what?”

“Never mind,” the chief said. He sat up on the couch and turned the television off. “C’mon in.”

The chief realized he was wearing a pair of boxers that were flaring open in the front. He also decided that Mrs. Hunt was going to see a little more of him than she would probably prefer so the chief covered himself with a blanket.

He was wearing a sleeveless tee-shirt that was a little tight. Half his gut was showing and his boobs were almost coming out of the sleeves. The chief also got a whiff of his latest outburst and wished he had not let go gas just a few seconds ago.

Mrs. Hunt came walking in the front door. Immediately, her nose crinkled up. “My word, what is that dreadful smell?”

The chief knew exactly what caused the smell but shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t smell nothing.”

She pursed her lips and almost gagged. “Chief Arnold, you might need to call the exterminator. I think something must’ve died in here.”

“Yeah, I’ll look into that.” He needed to fire off another round but decided Mrs. Hunt had been through enough trauma lately without experiencing his flatulence. “What can I do for you?”

She was dressed in her best clothes, as usual. The dress was a flowered one that almost reached her ankles. The shoes were polished and shined. Her hair was in perfect shape, thanks to a trip to the beautician this morning. Most of the grey was gone, for the most part. In her right hand, she carried a legal-sized envelope.

“Michael received this in the mail and asked me to give it to you,” she said.

“What the crap…excuse me. What is it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said and avoided eye contact. “I don’t open Michael’s mail or go through his things.”

That’s not what Michael had said, the chief recalled. “Hand it here.”

Mrs. Hunt looked around the room. It almost looked like it deserved federal disaster aid. There was no way she was coming one step farther into this place.

“You need to come get it,” she said.

“I can’t get up,” the chief said. “I got gun shot in the foot. Can’t walk.”

She looked down at the beer bottles on the table. “How’d they get there?”

Dang woman! She was smart. “The neighborhood kids check in on me ever so often. When they do, they get me a brew.”

She nodded but showed a little skepticism. Mrs. Hunt leaned closer and tossed the envelope on the couch next to the chief’s bandaged foot.

The chief caught himself trying to look down the front of her dress. He realized that it wasn’t cool to try to sneak a peak on an old widow woman, but it had been a long time. After she stood, the chief reached out and grabbed the envelope.

“It has something to do with the shooting,” she said.

“How’d you know that?”

“Oh, never mind,” she said, opened the door and walked out.

The chief read through the material in the envelope. He didn’t know what some of the words meant, but did pick up enough to know there was some bad stuff coming down in Langford.

Chapter 13

Michael Hunt was speechless. He often got tongue tied, but never before because law enforcement officials had just told him that his prints were on a gun that had been used to kill another human being.

He wasn’t the killing type. Michael knew somebody was trying to frame him and had a pretty good idea who was behind it. But he was clueless as to how they did it.

Michael had borrowed a pistol a couple of months earlier when he was shot at and threatened. But he barely even knew how to use the thing and had forgotten where it was.

Somebody would have had to steal the gun, use it to kill the man and sneak it back in while all the excitement was going on.

Very creative, Michael decided. But his main concern was figuring out a way to get out of this.

“Why did you do it?” asked Agent O’Donnell.

“Do what?” Michael said. He was so perplexed that the question did not sink in.

“Shoot the man,” Agent Jennings said. “Did you…”

“I didn’t shoot anybody.”

“Then how did your fingerprints get on the gun that was used to shoot him?” This was O’Donnell. Michael already didn’t like him.

“I borrowed a gun for a while after people were shooting at me but I put it away and haven’t seen it in weeks.”

The agents looked at each other. “Did you not know that all firearms are supposed to be registered?” Jennings said.

“No, I don’t own the gun. I don’t even want the gun.”

“Hmm,” Jennings said. Michael disliked Jennings almost as much. He never cared for the “hmm” answers.

“You realize that you’re in trouble, right?” O’Donnell said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t do anything. Give me a lie detector test or whatever. I was in my office when the guy was shot and…”

“Did anybody see you there?”

“Not until the cop and Squiggy and Mule showed up. That’s when I saw the guy running away. You know, the guy who shot the police chief. Why would he do that?”

“We do not know. But back to you…did you have a problem with the man?” Jennings said.

“I didn’t know him. I found him.”

“Right,” O’Donnell said. “And you knew where to find him. Right?”

“Wrong. Ask the sheriff. We looked all over the building before…”

“Well, nobody who had just killed somebody would want to take the police right to the body,” Jennings said. “Right?”

“I guess. You’ll have to talk to somebody who actually killed somebody. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t kill the guy.”

“Hmm.” This time it was O’Donnell. Michael wanted to growl. “And what about Mister Anson? Did you kill him also?”

“No, I didn’t kill him. I also didn’t trip over him and break my wrist just to cover it up. Everybody who looked at that said he was shot from across the lake. I was just meeting him.”

“Then how did the rifle wind up in the back of your truck?” O’Donnell said.

------

The window to the cabin was quickly fixed. In fact, it was done within thirty minutes after Jimmy Don broke it.

By seven the following morning, heavy equipment was clearing an area surrounding the land. As soon as one area was cleared, men would start working on digging holes for a fence that would keep out trespassers. The fence was built of pipe welded together. There was also a gate built at the front of the property.

While all this was going on, work commenced on a new building. The men roughed in the plumbing and started laying down the forms for the foundation. More guards were brought in to make sure nobody else would try and cause any problems. These guards were both armed and knew how to use them.

There were now over fifty people in place. That total would double as soon as the building was finished and there was room for everybody.

------

High on a hill to the east, a man watched all this activity through the best binoculars that could be bought. He was the one who had saved Jimmy Don from the dogs. He didn’t have any allegiance to Jimmy Don, just felt like anybody who was opposing these people could use as much help as possible.

He had been watching for weeks, positive that nobody knew where he was located. The man could feel the presence before a word was spoken.

“So there you are,” the man heard somebody say from behind him. There was something poking in his back. Something much more dangerous than a stick.

----

It was almost too late before Mule saw the knife arcing toward him. He was offended by this. Mule jumped to the side as the knife sliced into his favorite shirt.

“Hey, butt munch!” Mule said. “You cut my shirt!”

Albert switched the knife from one hand to the other and back and forth. He was trying to catch the big lug off guard and was doing a pretty good job. He lunged at the man, who stepped away from the knife and grabbed Albert by the arm.

Mule used Albert’s arm to toss the man to the ground. Albert was stunned. He didn’t expect the man to know how to defend himself.

Albert brushed the dirt off his pants as he stood. “Not bad,” he said.

“Yep!” Mule said. “I watch the pro rasslin!”

“Is that right?”

“Yep. I learned a lot of moves from the little guys.”

Albert tried to circle around Mule. “The midgets?”

“Yeah, they’s exciting.”

Albert plunged again. This time, Mule grabbed the man’s wrist and quickly twisted it behind Albert’s back. His arm was twisted bad enough that the knife dropped to the ground. Mule applied enough pressure to drive Albert to the ground.

“That’s my favorite move,” Mule said.

Albert knew he had underestimated the man. He relaxed, hoping the big guy would follow suit. Mule did, for just a second.

It was all it took. Albert kicked Mule in the leg, the same one that had been broken earlier in the year. Mule fell to the ground, holding his injured leg.

“Ouch!” he said. “You done kicked my broke leg.”

Albert regained his footing and grabbed his knife. He was tired of messing with this idiot. It was time for a little slice and dice and then get back to business. He was within a yard of the man when Albert heard the click from behind him.

He knew that sound all too well.

“You just best stop right there,” said Squiggy, who had his gun pointed right at the man’s head. Albert turned around to see Squiggy standing only a few feet away, wearing only a pair of boxers and boots that looked like they were made of snake skin. Standing next to him was the woman, wearing the biggest bra Albert had ever seen. He noticed her belly fat lapping over a pair of granny panties.

Albert about got sick. Mule continued to writhe in pain. “He done busted my broke leg, Squiggy!”

“That right?” Squiggy said. “Look what you done to my bud.”

He waited until Albert looked down at Mule. Squiggy wheeled his gun around and used the butt of the gun to ram it in the man’s face. Albert saw stars for a brief second and then darkness.

Chapter 12

The shooter’s name was Albert Jenkins. He was about as they come with a gun, especially at long-range shots.He had always liked shooting, going back to his childhood in eastern Texas where his father taught Albert to shoot almost as soon as the little boy could walk. Albert still practiced almost every day, never satisfied until he could place his bullets inside a small circle from hundreds of yards away.

Albert was rather fond of his new job. He didn’t really care for his past one because of all the bureaucracy involved. This one was great. He had one boss who told him when and who to take care of.

He knew from the past that as long as his boss was happy, things would be good for Albert. His boss didn’t like failed missions. Neither did Albert.

That’s what was so frustrating to Albert when the gun didn’t fire after he pulled the trigger.

“What the heck?” he said and looked down at the gun. Albert quickly realized that he had failed to take the safety off, a mistake he usually couldn’t afford. He took the safety off and looked back through the scope, but the man named Squiggy was no longer standing at the window, looking out. Neither was the big-chested woman. “Crap!”

Albert knew he would have to wait a little longer, not that he minded. Most of the bugs were gone for the winter, along with the snakes that made his skin crawl. For a man who had been in the woods so much, Albert had never gotten comfortable with snakes. It dated back to his early days when a copperhead struck him. The only thing that had kept the bite from being serious was the snake got him on his hunting boots, right above the ankle.

That incident had scared him and Albert had never overcame it. Some of his buddies liked to mess with him and hid fake snakes in his bed and boots. They got a kick out of it. Albert didn’t much care for it.

He settled back in for the next opportunity, looking through the scope at the windows in the house, only wanting a brief sighting of the man. Albert had nothing personal with this Squiggy guy. His boss apparently did, though. Maybe this would be enough to convince people to stop butting in their business, at least this coupled with the shooting earlier in the night.

Albert caught movement in one of the rooms. He put the scope on the room and waited. The shadow was approaching the window slowly. Albert took a deep breath and concentrated on his target.

The man walked into Albert’s sight. Albert started to fire off a bullet when the woods rustled behind him.

-------

Jimmy Don Anson stood back as the chair crashed through the window. As soon as the glass broke, lights came on from all around the cabin. The whole grounds were lit up like it was day.

He looked inside and saw that in addition to the two men, there were now five more, all heavily armed. Jimmy Don heard loud voices coming from all around him. He had just stepped into a beehive that was swarming with things much worse than stingers.

While he wanted to strike back at these men, Jimmy Don knew this wasn’t the time. There were too many men, much more than he expected. This is what happens when you react out of anger, instead of doing proper planning, Jimmy Don realized.

He slipped off the same way he came, past the body of the man who would be sporting a serious headache for the next few days. The dogs started barking, coonhounds that could track him almost anywhere.

Jimmy Don slipped alongside the wall of the cabin, not that it offered much protection. This area was lit up, just like the rest of the area. He had no choice and took off sprinting for the tree line, some fifty yards away.

They had spotted him and Jimmy Don heard the bark of something much worse than a coonhound. It was at least two Dobermans, coming directly at him from the back. Every step brought him closer to the woods that would provide some cover. But the dogs were catching up much faster than he was advancing.

He could hear their snarls and growls, practically felt them about to pounce. Jimmy Don knew this was a lost cause. These dogs could do serious damage to anybody, even him. There was no way to turn around and shoot the dogs. He might get one, but the other would be on him before he had a chance to defend himself.

Jimmy Don finally gave in and turned around, his gun aimed at the nearest dog, only a few yards away. Before he could get a shot off, Jimmy Don heard a gun fire, followed by another. He expected to feel the bullets hitting him, but instead, the two dogs dropped. Jimmy Don paused long enough to look at the dogs, both shot through the head.

He wanted to look around and see who rescued him, but Jimmy Don knew that he didn’t have time to wait around. He owed somebody a big favor, but whoever helped him would have to get thanked some other time.

---------

Michael wasn’t a big fan of hospitals. He also didn’t like being laid up, but there wasn’t anything that could be done. His left wrist was broken and the doctor said they might have to put screws in it.

He had a big gash just above his nose that had required stitches. Luckily, his left knee was only sprained badly, nothing broken or that would require an operation. Michael wouldn’t be running any sprints in the near future, not that he planned on doing any.

Sandy had just gone home and he was trying to go to sleep when somebody knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he said, expected it to be his mother and maybe little Michael, the boy who was staying with them until his mother, who was big Michael’s second wife, recovered from some medical problems.

Instead, two men walked in. They were both huge, the kind you would want on your side in a fight. They both had badges showing over the front of their belt. Both men had short hair, wore white dress shirts, jeans and boots

Michael noticed they each had guns in holsters on their belts. Neither man was smiling, which didn’t surprise Michael. He knew from experience that most men involved with law enforcement weren’t all that happy.

“Mister Hunt,” the first man said. “My name is Agent Jennings and this is Agent O’Donnell. We’re with the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation.”

Michael nodded. He didn’t know what to say.

“We are here about the shooting,” agent O’Donnell said.

“The one at the lake?” Michael said.

Agent Jennings shook his head. “No, the one that happened in the building across the street from your office.”

“Good. Has that guy admitted to shooting the man?”

The two agents looked at each other, then back at Michael. “No, we don’t believe he was the one who shot the man.”

Michael was puzzled. He had seen the man run from the building and then shot Chief Arnold. “Why do you say that?”

“The gun he had wasn’t the one that shot the man,” said Jennings.

“Wrong gun, different shells,” said the other agent.

“Well, then who shot the man?” Michael said.

“We found the gun from the shooting,” said O’Donnell. “Matched the slugs to the bullet that killed the man and even found some good prints.”

“We think we know who shot the man,” Jennings said.

“Okay, who was it?”

“The prints off the gun matched your prints, Mister Hunt,” O’Donnell said. “We believe you shot him.”

--------

Albert shifted around to see what was happening behind him. He expected it to be some dogs or maybe a deer. But whatever it was distracted him long enough to give this man a few minutes longer to live.

Instead of an animal, a man emerged from the woods. The man was somewhere around forty years old, had long hair and a beard that needed a bad trim. Despite the cool temperature, the man was wearing a shirt with both sleeves cut off, short pants and hunting boots.

Albert would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so ridiculous.

“Put the gun down,” the man said.

“Who are you?” Albert said. He smelled an odor that almost burned his nostrils. "You need a shower, dude."

“My name’s Mule and you ain’t shooting Big Uns! I don't take a bath till the weekend. You need a buttock kicking.”

“I'm not shooting the chick. I’m going to shoot the man.”

"Squiggy! Bull crap!” Mule came closer and assumed his unique fighting position. He was at an angle with one knee aimed straight ahead. His left arm was held up in the air while his right hand covered his privates.

Albert laid the rifle down and slowly stood, dragging a big hunting knife out of his boot and up the back of his pant leg in the process. “You going to kung fu me?”

“Naw, I’s gonna Mule Up on your butt!”

He jumped toward the man, never seeing the knife coming in his direction.

Chapter 11

Jimmy Don Anson was usually the type of person who didn’t like being messed with and wouldn’t mess with anybody else.

At least until somebody was messing with him. It was time to send a message to whoever these guys were that were buying up all the land and trying to run the existing neighbors off.

Since they started moving in and paying ridiculous prices for the land, most of the people living in this valley had sold out and moved. Only Jimmy Don, his brother and a cousin, Sally Mae Williams, still owned land here.

Jimmy Don was born in this valley and planned to die here. He liked things just the way they were. He never had any problems with any of the neighbors, until the new people moved in. His brother also didn’t plan to move.

Sally Mae was a shrewd little woman and would sell once the right offer came along. She had probably saved every penny that had ever made it into her purse. Sally’s land was not all that great as most of it was on a hill side.

Most land around here was worth less than a thousand an acre, but the price was now going at five thousand an acre and old cabins and cruddy trailers were getting over ten times their worth.

They had approached Jimmy Don and Bubba several times about selling their land, but had gotten no luck, even though the price went up every time.

Bubba had been snooping around too much, even wanted to get the law and the newspapers involved. Jimmy Don didn’t think that was the way to handle the situation and told his brother not to mess with them, but Bubba didn’t listen and was probably in deep dookie now.

Jimmy Don didn’t bother with them and minded his own business. The new neighbors hadn’t been doing that and he was tired of them spying on him and trying to run him off.

They wouldn’t run him off. He had fought a lot worse. They might get him, but it wouldn’t be without a fight.

Jimmy Don snuck over next to one of the rockers. He picked it up and threw it through one of the windows at the front of the cabin. As soon as the window crashed, he was breaking through the front door.

------

It seemed to take forever for the authorities to arrive at the lake. They called in an ambulance and loaded Michael up for a trip to the hospital, after the sheriff and his deputies interviewed him for way too long. He couldn’t understand the need for them to get his fingerprints, but Michael just wanted to get out of there and away from the body of the dead man.

The detective kept asking Michael why he was here and why he was meeting Bubba. Michael repeated the same answer several times, finally getting irritated. He didn’t have a clue what Bubba was going to tell him. Apparently whatever it was would be kept a secret forever because dead men don’t speak.

The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever. He told them to take him to one of the Fort Smith hospitals. There was no way he was going to stop off at the local county hospital first.

When he got to the hospital, Sandy was waiting for him. The look on her face bothered him much more than any pain he had gone through.

She was scared, worried and almost looked sick. They took him into an examining room and she sat down in a chair next to the bed to wait with him.

They waited until everybody left before. “How’s it going?” Michael said.

He hoped to get a smile out of her, but she wasn’t in a smiling mood. “Michael…”

Michael saw she was crying. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be joking around.”

She stared at him with a look he had never seen before. “Michael, I’m not upset about you joking around. You disappear in the middle of the night after somebody calls and threatens me and your building is blown up and you don’t tell anybody where you are going and then I don’t hear anything from you until some cop calls to tell me to meet you at the hospital.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Yes, I know you are. You scared me. I’ve finally got a chance to be happy and marry a man I love and it’s to the point where I don’t know if we’ll even get married before you get killed.”

“I’m not going to get killed.”

“How do you know that?” she said while wiping away some tears. “You’re working at a little newspaper. Just write the obituaries and put the pictures of the kids in the paper. Nobody cares.”

Michael was a little upset. Here he was in pain and his future wife was on the attack. That hurt, but so did the “nobody cares” comment. Surely somebody cares.

“I’m not going after them,” Michael said. That wasn’t necessarily the truth. He had been checking up on some things, but had not written a word about them. “They’re coming after me, Sandy.”

“Yes, they are. But why?”

Michael shrugged his shoulder. He thought of something that had almost slipped by. He stopped thinking about Sandy and all the other troubles.

------

In the woods just outside of Langford, a new house overlooked a ridge just to the north. It was one of the nicer homes in the county with a view that people would die to have.

Only one light was on in the house, near the back. Roughly one hundred yards down the road, a man was hidden in the woods, waiting for a chance to see the person inside. The man was the one who had ended Bubba Anson’s life earlier in the night. Now, there was another man who needed taken care of.

This man’s crime was butting in downtown Langford earlier, helping to catch a friend who didn’t need caught by any law enforcement, even one as unsophisticated as the ones in this county.

Their plan was not going as smoothly as they expected. They didn’t think there would be any obstacles, but more were popping up almost every day. He didn’t know the person’s name inside the house, just knew he was a country guy who drove a monster truck and was sharing the company of some ugly woman with a massive chest.

He had been out here for almost two hours. The man was visible for just a few seconds earlier, talking on a cell phone. Since then, there had been some hollering and some other noise that almost sickened the man. It sounded almost like coyotes howling.

His instructions were simple: take out the man who owned this house. That was fine with the shooter. He didn’t mind killing somebody. It was his job. If his bosses told him to knock off somebody, that person would be knocked off. He had done it many times before and hoped to get more chances.

The pay was good with a bonus every time he took care of business. It was getting cooler but the man did not notice. He blended into the woods and thought somebody could walk right by without seeing him.

He saw a light come on in the house. At first, he only saw the shadow. But a person walked past the window. It was the man, wearing a pair of boxers that were at least three sizes too big.

The man was scratching his privates while walking through the house. He better enjoy it, the shooter decided, because this was the last time he would do it. The shooter waited a few seconds until the man came and stood right in front of the window, looking outside while drinking a beer.

This was almost too easy, the shooter decided. He liked a challenge, like the one of knocking off the big country hick from across the lake. In the dark even! The shooter got a kick out of that one. The hick didn’t even take a step, just dropped right where he was when hit with a single bullet from the Remington Model 700 .308 caliber rifle.

He looked into the scope, a D-145 Generation 1+ Compact Night Vision scope, one the man had used many times before. It almost made the darkness of night seem like day. It wasn’t really necessary with the man standing in the night. The shooter aimed right at the man’s head, directly above the beer bottle. The shooter took a deep breath and started to pull the trigger. “Time to die,” he said and applied the final pressure to send the bullet screaming through the night, through the glass of the window and into the man’s head.

The shooter didn’t know the man’s name. Most people just called him Squiggy.

Chapter 10

Michael lunged at the man standing nearest to him and tried to tackle him. The large man didn’t budge, just stood in the same spot looking down at his friend.

“What’re you doing?” the man said, speaking in a real slow tone.

Michael swung at the man, hitting him in the thigh. If it hurt, the man didn’t reveal it.

“Little feller’s got some fight in him,” the other man said.

The other man shook his leg and Michael slid off, falling back to the rock.

“You aren’t going to get me!” he said.

“Why the crap would we wanna get you?” the other man said.

“You killed him and now you’re here for me!”

The first man laughed. “We didn’t kill nothing. Heck, we ain’t seen nothing tonight.”

“Yeah, we didn’t shoot that feller,” said the second man. “We’s looking for deer.”

Michael scooted back. “You aren’t here to kill me?”

“Heck no. We don’t kill nothing unless we plan on eating it.”

“Cept for crows. We’re pretty fond of shooting crows.”

“Then how’d you wind up here?”

“We was down at the boat ramp and heard a shot,” the first man said. He looked at the second man, who was nodding in agreement. “I figgered somebody was shooting at this buck we been chasing and I was hoping we’d get here first.”

“Yeah,” the second man said as he leaned down to look at Bubba. “Dadgum, he’s got a big old hole in his gourd!”

“Right 'tween the eyeballs,” said the other man, who was also leaning close to look. He turned back to Michael. “You ain’t gonna try and tackle me again, is you?”

Michael shook his head. “No. We need to call the authorities.”

“The what?” asked the first man.

“You know, the cops.”

“I don’t much care for the law,” said the second man. “I got like five warrants out for me.”

“I only got three,” said the other man. “That fat cop in Langston is on me like stink on a fresh dog log.”

He wouldn’t be for a while, Michael thought. “Can you guys get service?”

“I ain’t in a while but old Ben got some last weekend at the bar,” the first man said.

“No, not that kind of service. I meant on your cell phone?”

“Ain’t got no seller phone,” said the second man. “We do got a CB in the truck.”

“Yeah, we can talk clear to Hodgen on it,” said the first man. He looked closer at Bubba. “Durn, he got whacked a good one.”

“Yep, he pee’d all over hisself.”

“I think he dropped a load, too.”

“Can you try and get hold of somebody with your CB?” Michael said.

“I reckon. Who you want me to call?”

“Anybody who could call the sheriff.”

“Can’t you do it?” the first man said. “The sheriff said he’d lock me up the next time he saw me.”

“I can’t move very good,” Michael said. “I did something to my knee.”

“Looks like you hurt your wrist, too. That thing’s bent like a chicken wing.”

“I'd like me some chicken wings 'bout now,” the second man said.

“I’m mighty partial for the breasts,” the first man said.

“Yeah, but that’s cause you can’t get none!”

They laughed for way longer than Michael thought was necessary. “Why don’t you just get on the CB and call for somebody? Don’t tell them your name.”

“That’d work,” the first man said. “Hike up there and tell em to call the cops.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Cause I figgered you could make better time. I got that hemorrhoid problem.”

“You is a pain in the butt,” the other man said. He did start walking up the steps. Michael could hear him huffing after a few steps.

“Why're you out here?” the other man said. “You and him got something going on? I hear there’s a lotta homo stuff that takes place out here.”

“No, he needed to tell me something. I’m not gay.”

The man nodded, his beard swishing against his clothes. “The dead dude didn’t much look like a girly guy.”

Michael wanted to say he wasn’t a girly guy either, but let it drop. This wasn’t the type of conversation he wanted to engage in.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until the other man hollered. “I got hold of somebody. They’re gonna call the cops!”

-------

He moved in silence through the thick woods, just like he had done so many times before. Some of the tricks he learned in the service, most of them were taught by his father back when they went hunting when Jimmy Don was a young boy.

Jimmy Don knew these woods like the back of his hands. He knew all the areas to avoid and the ones that were easy to move through. Up ahead, the lights in the cabin were blaring. It was a new cabin, much nicer than any other one that could be found around here.

There was a big porch on the front with three rockers on it. Nobody was using them at the moment. He knew the men liked to sit in the rockers and drink their fancy drinks. There was one man standing on the porch, leaning against the rail.

The man was supposed to be a lookout, but was not paying any attention. He didn’t expect there to be any trouble. Nobody would want to mess with them, Jimmy Don figured the man was thinking. Jimmy Don planned to change that opinion. He moved up next to the house and looked inside the window.

There were two men sitting at the table. One was the guy who Jimmy Don had shot at earlier. They were talking and laughing about something. Another man came out of a back room. This was a new one Jimmy Don had not seen him before. It was a face he would remember, one of pure evil and meanness with just a touch of shrewdness.

Jimmy Don wasn’t sure, but figured he had just seen the leader of this group. He wasn’t sure what they were doing here in this valley, but planned on finding out. He moved silently against the wall, ducking down at every window until he reached the porch. The man was smoking a cigar and looking down the road.

It was almost too easy. Jimmy Don reached out and grabbed the man, never letting a sound escape. That part was easy. What was fixing to happen wouldn’t be such a breeze.

----------

In the OSBI office, the lab tech came into the office where two agents were discussing the college football game coming up on Saturday.

Oklahoma was playing Oklahoma State. OU was favored as usual, but since the game was in Stillwater, they were both a little concerned. The Cowboys had surprised a lot of people by losing only one game this year, to Texas, and would like nothing better than to knock the Sooners from the rank of the undefeated.

The lab tech was a young man, only twenty-five, making time here until something better opened up. He knew his stuff. Since the agent found the pistol in the office of what used to be the Langford Review, surprising both him and his supervisor, the tech had been working on the gun.

The two men stopped talking and waited for the report. “The bullets match. Guess who the fingerprints go to?”

He told them and the two men forgot about the football game for a few minutes

Chapter 9

Michael Hunt was as horrified as he had ever been.

Only inches away from him lay the body of Bubba Anson. His eyes wide open with a large hole centered just above his eyes. His prone body still lay on the steps and was what tripped him.

He was still screaming, but finally stopped. It wasn’t because of the pain shooting up Michael’s arm or from whatever injury had happened to his face.

It was from seeing this man’s body before him, the person Michael had come to the lake to see and try to help. Michael used his good hand to scoot farther away. There was a big rock formation to his right and he moved up against it.

The realization suddenly hit him that he might be in danger, also. Michael didn’t know much about guns, unlike ninety percent of the county’s population, but could tell from the size of the wound and the accuracy that whoever did this had a big gun and knew how to use it. He grabbed for the cell phone attached to his belt. Michael opened it with his good hand and tried to make a call. Nothing was happening. He started worrying that the phone had been damaged in the fall, before noticing there were no bars.

No signal. Michael sighed and wondered what to do. The pain was getting worse, now joined by something on his left knee. He tried to stand and figured out that was a no go. His left leg would not offer the needed support so Michael sat back down against the sloped rock.

This wasn’t a popular time to camp and he saw no lamps lit or fires burning at the camp sites on this side of the lake or the other. He thought for a second that he saw lights across the lake, but if there were any, they quickly disappeared.

There was no way to make it back up the steps. He regretted not telling anybody where he was going, not a smart move. There probably wasn’t anybody around for several miles, back to the few houses on the side of the road heading into the lake.

“Help!” he hollered, quickly deciding that was a waste of time and energy. Michael looked back at the corpse and wished the eyes would stop staring at him. Lifeless eyes that showed no horror or anything. Michael touched his left knee and was not surprised to find out it was already swelling, easily twice the size of the other knee. He had hurt this knee years ago playing softball in a recreational league in Tulsa. He tripped rounding second base and wound up with torn ligaments and a face full of dirt. The second baseman laughed while applying the tag to end the inning. Michael saw nothing humorous about that, or this. He knew this was bad and getting worse.

--------

One of the agents from the OSBI was looking through the debris left over from the fire at what used to be the Langford Review. Most everything was destroyed, from the desks, the computers, printer, chairs and everything.

This was not a plum assignment as far as Mel Hudlow was concerned. His instructions were to find anything that looked like it might either come from a bomb or ignite a bomb. Like Michael Hunt, Mel was a fan of CSI. They always found the stuff, right before a commercial break. It didn’t take them long to find the good stuff.

Mel was striking out. At least he was until he moved aside a chair and saw something that looked out of place. The agent was a rookie and didn’t know what to make of this.

“Hey, Harry,” he said, calling over his supervisor. “You might want to come look at this.”

--------

Sandy was the first one to grow worried. Michael had not called or stopped by after leaving to meet with somebody earlier in the evening. He had told her about the meeting, but not the location or who Michael was going to see. She would have gotten worried anyway, since it was not three hours later, but with the threats, bombs and dead body, it was enough to make her do something she would have never done under any other circumstance.

Sandy got her phone, looked through the address book and finally found the name of the person she never expected to call.

She pushed the send button and waited. On the fourth ring, the person answered. “What?” the man said.

“Squiggy?” she said.

“Uh, yeah, who is this?”

Sandy heard another person in the background. “Who is that?” the woman yelled.

“This is Sandy,” she said. “Can you talk?”

“Sandy? Yeah, we was just getting busy. What’s up?”

“Who’s Sandy?” the other person hollered.

“It’s Mikey’s chick,” he said.

“Why’s she calling you?”

Sandy was already regretting this.

“If you’d shut your trap I’d find out.”

“Don’t tell me to shut my trap!”

Sandy heard some thud and then heard Squiggy grunt.

“Are you okay?” she said.

“Yeah, Big Uns just hit me over the head with my dadgummed boot.”

"What's Big Uns?"

"You know...Big Uns! The chick I been..."

“I hate to call you,” Sandy said, which was the definite truth. “But I’m worried about Michael.”

“He ain’t here!” Squiggy said. “It’s just me and Big Uns. Mikey don’t go for the weird stuff.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Where’s he at?”

“If I knew that, I’d go find him. Have you seen him?”

Squiggy thought about it for a few seconds. “Yeah, about six foot, got a little belly and not much hair on his head?”

“I know what he looks like,” Sandy said.

“Yeah, I reckon you do…in more ways that I ever hope to see.”

Sandy didn’t have a clue what Squiggy was talking about. She decided that was a topic that could fade away. “Have you seen or heard from him in the last hour?”

“Naw, me and Big Uns, we been kinda getting after it…until she hit me in the head with the dadgummed boot. Crap, I think I gotta knot!”

“You deserve it!” the woman hollered in the background.

“I’ll hit you with a boot and…say, you eating blueberry wafflers?”

“Yeah, but you can’t have none.”

“Squiggy!” Sandy said.

“Oh yeah, sorry. Boy, them wafflers sure smell good! Got some syrup dripping and..what was we talking about?”

“Michael.”

“Oh yeah. I gets confused at times. Where’d you say he was?”

Sandy hung up and grabbed her car keys.

--------

Jimmy Don Anson was also growing a little worried. He had not seen his brother’s truck come back up the driveway since Bubba left earlier. His brother could take care of himself against most people. The people they were dealing with weren’t most people, though.

He decided to check things out and took off walking through the pasture. But not in the direction of his brother’s house.

---------

Michael wasn’t aware that he had fallen asleep. He felt somebody shaking him and opened his eyes. The pain was bad, growing worse every second. He shook his head and tried to clear the cobwebs.

There were two men standing above him, guns propped up on their shoulders. They both had thick beards, camo clothing, hunting boots and hats that were tilted off to the sides of their heads.

Michael stared at the guns and the men. They were both young, barely in their twenties. Both of them had the look so many young men shared, that they would rather fight than do anything else other than hunt. Michael didn’t care anymore. They weren’t going to take him out without a fight.